The infirmary cot creaked under their combined weight as Ino dragged her fingers across the jagged mountain brand marring her hip, the flesh still puckered and angry. "Stone bastards *claimed* this was cultural exchange," she spat, tracing the crude peaks with a chakra-glowing fingertip. "Like I wouldn't recognize a fucking ownership mark." Across from her, Hinata's trembling hands hovered over the overlapping flame-and-crest brand below her navel, her Byakugan veins flaring as she examined the interloping chakra threads. "F-Fire Country's seal," she whispered, "it's... *knitting* with our clan symbols." The opalescent ooze clinging to the brand's edges shimmered under Sakura's healing glow, revealing microscopic Hyuga sigils being slowly overwritten by Fire Country's script.
Tenten rolled onto her stomach with a hiss, the kunai brand on her hip pulling taut as she gestured toward the inventory codes stamped into her thigh. "Mist's armory logs," she growled, pressing a senbon against the still-smoldering digits. The metal tip came away flecked with molten steel residue—the same alloy used in Mist's standard-issue kunai. "They *serialized* me." Sakura's fingers hovered over the alphanumeric burns, her healing chakra recoiling at the intentional impurities baked into the metal. "These aren't just brands," she realized aloud, green light flickering across the alphanumeric burns. "They're *tracking* seals."
Himari remained eerily still as the others examined the slave contract inked across her lower back, the characters swelling unnaturally whenever Sakura's chakra neared them. "Ambassador's personal calligraphy," she murmured, her voice detached as though describing someone else's body. The intricate strokes pulsed in time with her heartbeat, the ink laced with Fire Country's distinct chakra signature—a binding vow masquerading as tattoo art. Ino's breath hitched when she spotted the tiny characters hidden in the flourish of a particular kanji: *Property of Daimyo's Third Son.*
The infirmary's single lightbulb flickered as Sakura's healing glow sputtered out, leaving the brands pulsing malevolently in the sudden dimness. Tenten sat up with a wince, oil-streaked fingers tracing the serial numbers on her thigh. "Konoha medics won't touch these," she said flatly, watching as the digits shimmered under her touch like fresh ink. "Too politically volatile." Hinata's Byakugan activated involuntarily, the veins around her eyes bulging as she studied the interlaced chakra in her navel brand. "Th-they're designed to trigger if tampered with," she whispered, flinching when the flame symbol flared brighter.
Ino's smirk was all teeth as she rolled onto her knees, the Stone brand stretching taut across her hip. "I know a place where politics don't exist." The others turned as one toward the window where moonlight painted the distant treeline silver—beyond which lay the forbidden canopy of Shikkotsu Forest. Sakura's fingers twitched toward her kunai brand, the Mist insignia throbbing in time with her pulse. "Slugs don't care about treaties," she murmured, green eyes reflecting the distant glow like swamp fire. Himari's slave contract seared suddenly hot against her spine as she stood, the ambassador's seal burning white-hot for the first time since implantation. "Then we go," she said simply, and the five bloodied kunoichi moved as one toward the window, their shadows merging into a single monstrous shape on the infirmary wall.
The Hokage Tower's steps groaned under five sets of weighted footsteps as they climbed toward Tsunade's office, each movement stiff with half-healed injuries. The Slug Sannin didn't look up from her sake bottle when they entered—just jerked her chin toward the examination table already stained with their blood from previous visits. "Let me guess," she slurred, squinting at Himari's pulsing slave seal through alcohol-blurred vision, "you want Shikkotsu Forest." Sakura's fist clenched around a fresh bloodstain on her thigh bandages. "The brands—"
"Are political time bombs," Tsunade finished, slamming her cup down hard enough to crack the desk. Her gaze traced the overlapping ownership marks branding their skin like cattle—Stone's mountain, Mist's inventory codes, Fire's claim staked over Hyuga crests—before snatching a scroll from her drawer. "These require *Hiruzen's* approval." The parchment unfurled with a snap, revealing a map to the forest's border marked with warnings in Jiraiya's spidery handwriting. She thrust it at them alongside a vial of iridescent slug mucus. "But if you're stupid enough to go..." Her golden eyes flicked to the door where ANBU shadows shifted uneasily. "...better hope the Third's in a *forgiving* mood."
The walk to Hiruzen's office was a funeral march—every step sending fresh pain lancing through Mist's kunai brand on Sakura's hip, Fire's seal burning hotter along Himari's spine with each passing torchlight.
The Third Hokage's office reeked of stale tobacco and spilled sake when the girls staggered in, their injuries still weeping through hastily applied bandages. Hiruzen didn't look up from the ledger sprawled across his desk—columns of names and dates with too many red X's marking absentees. "Konoha's pleasure quarter is *understaffed*," he growled, his pipe stem cracking between his teeth as his gaze crawled over their battered forms. The ash in his tray held the distinct shape of a woman's spread thighs. "Five days servicing my special clients." His knuckles whitened around the mission scroll Tsunade had given them. "Then you can play in your fucking forest."
Tsunade leaned against the window frame, her massive breasts straining against her robe as she watched the girls' reactions with alcohol-glazed disinterest. "They'll need patching up first," she slurred, tossing a half-empty sake bottle onto Hiruzen's desk. It rolled over a list titled *VIP Preferences*—Ino's name circled beside *Mind Break Specialist*.
Hinata's Byakugan veins bulged as she read the adjacent column: *Hyuga - Full Seal Suppression*. The Third's cane came down hard on the ledger, snapping her focus to his yellowed grin. "Consider it... *advanced training*." His chuckle sent spiders skittering up Sakura's spine as he stamped their scroll with a seal that burned like brand iron. "Report to the Chrysanthemum Pavilion at dusk."
The hallway outside smelled of sex and disinfectant where Tsunade motioned them toward an examination room. "Strip," she ordered, already pouring alcohol over her hands without looking at their wounds. Her healing glow was harsher than usual—knitting skin just enough to withstand another round of use, leaving the deeper damage festering beneath. When Sakura opened her mouth, Tsunade slapped a hand over the kunai brand hard enough to restart the bleeding. "Save your protests," she muttered, jerking her chin toward the window where ANBU guards now flanked the exit. "You're not the first girls he's *borrowed*."
Ino's Stone brand pulsed angrily as Tsunade's chakra skirted around it—the Yamanaka's smirk turning feral when she spotted the Hokage's personal seal on a stack of client files. "Special clients my ass," she whispered, tracing a finger along the list of foreign dignitaries scheduled for their "training week." Himari's slave contract flared hot against her spine at the sight of Fire Country's ambassador's name circled in red.
Tsunade's hands stilled on Tenten's thigh burns. "The forest..." she started, her golden eyes flicking to the door where Hiruzen's laughter echoed. "...won't heal *this*." Her palm pressed over Tenten's inventory brand made the numbers glow radioactive green—proof the tracking seals reached deeper than flesh.
Sakura's healing glow flickered crimson as she examined Hinata's overwritten Hyuga seal. "Five days," she murmured, watching Fire Country's chakra writhe beneath the skin like a living thing. Tenten's oil-stained fingers found hers, squeezing hard enough to crack fresh scabs. "Then we burn it all down."
The Chrysanthemum Pavilion's gates loomed at sunset, their ornate ironwork casting cage-like shadows across the path. From within came the sound of a whip cracking—followed by muffled applause.
The Chrysanthemum Pavilion's gates loomed at sunset, their ornate ironwork casting cage-like shadows across the path. From within came the sound of a whip cracking—followed by muffled applause. The scent of sandalwood incense and sweat rolled out in thick waves as the gates creaked open, revealing a courtyard lined with kneeling attendants whose collars bore the same alphanumeric brands as Tenten's thigh. A stone path—polished smooth by decades of bare knees—led to an opulent shoji door streaked with old bloodstains. The girls stepped forward as one, their footsteps syncing unnaturally with the rhythmic *thump* of a taiko drum echoing from somewhere deeper inside.
The entrance hall smelled of sex and aristocracy—overripe peaches left to ferment in noblemen's pockets, mingling with the acrid bite of chakra suppression seals heating against skin. Paper lanterns cast flickering light across walls hung with "trophies": silk sashes stiff with dried fluids, broken hairpins impaled through mission scrolls, a glass case displaying Hyuga forehead protectors with their clan symbols carefully defaced. A murmur rippled through the gathered clients as the girls were herded inside—fire nobles licking sake from their lips, Stone envoys running calloused fingers along kunai edges, Mist diplomats leaning forward with the predatory stillness of sharks.
The central chamber was a study in calculated decadence—tatami mats replaced with imported velvet cushions, the ceiling strung with suspension rigging that creaked under the weight of previous "trainees." At the room's heart stood an elevated platform where a girl no older than twelve knelt with her arms bound behind her back, her kimono parted to reveal fresh whip marks crisscrossing her thighs. The air thrummed with the metallic tang of arousal and fear as a fire noble traced the edge of a heated sake cup along her spine, his grin widening when she failed to suppress a whimper.
Moriko emerged from the shadows with the silent lethality of a stalking panther, her crimson nails scraping against a ledger filled with names and timetables. "Yamanaka," she purred, tapping an entry beside *Mind Break Protocol—Full Chakra Drain.* Ino's Stone brand pulsed in time with the flickering lanterns as two Stone shinobi stepped forward, their hands already glowing with the distinctive gray hue of Earth Country's absorption techniques. "Hyuga," Moriko continued, smiling as a fire noble produced a set of silk restraints embroidered with Hyuga clan symbols—now repurposed with flame motifs burning through the fabric.
The pavilion's walls seemed to breathe inward as Himari's slave seal flared violently, its chakra tendrils lashing against her spine in time with the ambassador's approaching footsteps. Sakura's healing glow flickered erratically when a Mist kunoichi pressed a kunai to her brand—the blade's edge perfectly matching the scar's jagged outline. Only Tenten remained still, her oil-smeared skin reflecting the lantern light like a weapon left uncleaned as an armorer's assistant approached with a tray of gleaming tools.
A gong sounded. The noble's sake cup seared into the bound girl's shoulder with a hiss of steam and muffled scream. Moriko's ledger snapped shut. "Begin."
The gong's reverberations still pulsed through Sakura's bones when the first noble's hands closed around Hinata's throat—his fire-warmed signet ring branding her Hyuga crest with a sizzle that filled the room with the stench of burning silk. Across the chamber, Ino's scream cut off abruptly as Stone shinobi forced her jaw open, their earth-gloved fingers hooking behind her molars to pry her skull apart for "chakra extraction." Himari barely flinched when the ambassador's cane found fresh skin between her latticework scars, each strike timed to the taiko drum's accelerating rhythm.
Tenten's oiled body gleamed under the lanterns as armory staff strapped her to a grinding wheel, their calloused fingers testing the edge of a katana against her inner thigh. "Maintenance protocol seven," one muttered, spitting into the whetstone's groove before dragging the blade upward in a spray of sparks and blood. Sakura's healing glow flickered like a dying bulb as Mist kunoichi pressed kunai to her brand in unison—four blades sliding home with the wet crunch of scar tissue tearing.
Somewhere beneath the nobles' laughter, the bound girl's whimpers took on the rhythmic cadence of a countdown.
Moriko's ledger pages fluttered like dying moths as she circled the platform, her crimson nails ticking off names with each completed "demonstration." The fire noble's cup left fifth-degree burns along Hinata's collarbones—each steaming indentation perfectly spaced to form the Daimyo's crest. Ino's convulsions sent chakra sparks skittering across the Stone shinobi's chests as they siphoned her mind-body techniques directly from tear-drenched pupils.
Himari's slave seal pulsed like a second heartbeat when the ambassador's cane switched to electrified steel—each strike now triggering chain-lightning along her nerve endings. The armory's grinding wheel shrieked as Tenten's thigh met rotating stone, her choked scream harmonizing with the blade's metallic screech. Sakura's vision whited out when Mist kunai twisted clockwise in unison, their edges catching on pelvic bone.
The taiko drummer's palms were bleeding when the first hour ended.